


Lost, Stolen or Strayed

by JohnAmendAll



Category: Doctor Who, The Armstrong and Miller Show
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-04
Updated: 2014-05-04
Packaged: 2018-01-21 21:23:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,978
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1564577
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JohnAmendAll/pseuds/JohnAmendAll
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>New Orleans, the 1980s. Tegan's nowhere to be found — but while searching for her, Nyssa encounters a barkeep who seems oddly eager to help.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Lost, Stolen or Strayed

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the unconventionalcourtship romance-novel ficathon, based on changing the names in prompt 150 ('Relentless Seduction' by Jillian Burns).
>
>> Unrestrained. Unrelenting. And completely undressed! When microbiologist [Nyssa of Traken]'s best friend disappears in New Orleans, she's determined to find her. Her only lead is a bar called Once Bitten — a haven for the dark and vampire-obsessed. While [Nyssa] generally prefers science nerds there's something about the bar's tall, dark and delish bartender... Bar owner [Ten] is sure that there's more to [Nyssa] than frumpy clothes. And as they delve further into the seedy underworld of the Big Easy, [Nyssa] and [Ten] turn to each other, discovering a sizzling hunger that won't be satisfied. But will one taste be enough?

_Once Bitten_ wasn't the first bar, or the tenth, that Nyssa had walked into that day. As she crossed the threshold, though, she decided it was definitely her least favourite. She'd had quite enough experience of vampires to know that she never wanted anything more to do with them — and the red drapes, faux-antique portraits and Transylvanian decor were bringing back some particularly unpleasant memories. It didn't look as if anybody else much was fond of the bar, either; customers were few and far between. Most of them were scruffy-looking youngsters in black leather jackets, though Nyssa had to admit the two middle-aged men quietly playing dominoes in a corner, dressed in elaborate, gaudy clothes that looked several centuries out of date, were a little out of the ordinary. 

Ignoring the curious looks being directed at her — considered objectively, her blue and white summer blouse and matching slacks were extremely out of place here — she made her way to the bar. The barman, she decided, was a cut above the average — tall, lean, dark-haired, wearing a smart brown suit and a tie. He looked up as she approached, stared at her for a moment, then donned a pair of black-framed spectacles and gave her a closer look. 

"And what can I do for you, miss?" he asked, with a slight emphasis on the 'you'. 

"I'm looking for someone," Nyssa replied. "I don't suppose you've seen her? She's about my height, auburn hair, Australian, and she was wearing a purple blouse and skirt." 

"...And skirt," the man repeated, as if he'd been taking mental notes. "No, I haven't seen anyone like that. I'm sure I'd remember if I had. Well, reasonably sure. And you say she's missing?" 

"She didn't come back to our... our ship last night," Nyssa said, inwardly thanking her stars that this city had a harbour. "And we've all been out looking for her today. No-one seems to have heard anything about her." 

"That sounds serious." The man pulled a pen from his pocket and tapped it against his teeth. "Tell you what. I know a couple of places she might have gone." 

"You mean you can give me addresses?" 

He pursed his lips. "Don't like to think of you going there on your own. Best if I come with you. Give me a moment to get my coat and a few other bits and bobs." 

Left alone at the bar, Nyssa tried, by sheer force of will, to stop any of the other patrons approaching her and trying to chat her up. She'd had quite enough of that already today. That or turning down offers of alcoholic drink; she was all too aware what effect alcohol had on her Trakenite physiology. 

"Pharius, is she not magnificent?" 

Nyssa sighed inwardly. The two domino-players were now at the bar, favouring her with what might have been intended as gallant smiles. Their voices were lowered, but she was plainly intended to hear. 

"Indeed, yes, Horschstadt. She reminds me so of the Countess Anna Maria, when she stood on the balcony of the Hofburg Palace. Ah, she held all the men of the city in her palm that night!" 

"I remember her well," Horschstadt replied. "So elegant, so young, so full of life." 

Nyssa steadfastly avoid eye contact, but to no avail. The two were gliding closer. 

"My lady," Pharius said, accompanying his words with a courtly bow. "Might a humble stranger enquire what brings such a scintillating jewel of culture and beauty to this forsaken establishment?" 

"I'm looking for a friend," Nyssa said. 

"Ah! Your voice, like the chime of bells at sunset!" Horchstadt exclaimed. 

Refusing to be distracted, Nyssa gave a brief description of Tegan, ending with "You haven't seen her at all?" 

"It desolates me to say that we have not." Pharius did not, in fact, look remotely devastated. "But it has, at least, given us the pleasure of your charming company for these fleeting minutes." 

He took Nyssa's hand, and, bowing low, kissed it. Horchstadt followed suit. Then, seeming to realise that their compliments were falling on stony ground, they returned to their game of dominoes. Not at all sorry to see them go, Nyssa resumed her lone vigil, absent-mindedly rubbing the back of her hand. 

"And here we are," the barman said, emerging from the dim inner recesses of the bar. Despite the warm, muggy weather, he had donned a coat that reached almost down to his plimsolls. He was joined a moment later by a young, attractive blonde, whose beauty was only marred by the sulky expression she was currently wearing. 

"You're OK?" he asked her. 

"'Course I'm OK," the girl replied. "And I know what to do. Look after the bar while you spend the night out on the town with _her_." She directed a venomous glare at Nyssa. "You'd just better not try anything on, that's all." 

"Rose, you know I'd never do anything inappropriate." 

"Yeah, right." Rose picked up a cloth and gave the bar a few desultory wipes. "I should've listened to my mum." 

"You really shouldn't. I haven't for years." The barman held out his arm to Nyssa. "Coming?" 

"Thank you for this," Nyssa said, as they reached the sidewalk outside the bar. "If you don't mind my asking, why does your bar look like a vampire's castle? It doesn't seem to be drawing in the customers." 

"Yeah, bit ahead of its time. Didn't realise I was too early for the whole Stephenie Meyer thing until I'd already had all the decorations done." 

"Stephenie who?" 

"That's what I mean." 

Nyssa decided she wasn't getting anywhere with that line of enquiry, and changed the subject. "What's your name? I mean, I can't just call you 'Bartender,' can I?" 

"My name?" He looked, for a split second, completely flummoxed. "John Sm— No. You were nearly right the first time. Call me Barty." 

"Really?" 

"Really. Barty Crouch." He gave her a wary look, as if checking to see if it was a name she recognised. "Barty Crouch Junior," he added, more firmly. 

⁂

Midnight was no more than a distant memory. In the heat and humidity of the night, New Orleans had contracted into a series of artificially-lit bars and clubs, each more miserable than the last. Time and again Nyssa had put her questions to hulking doormen or dead-eyed hostesses thinking only of their next fix. And time and again, nobody had heard anything of Tegan, or seen so much as a purple skirt. 

If it hadn't been for the self-styled Barty Crouch, she'd long since have given up to despair, or fallen asleep in a gutter. His help hadn't been confined to moral support or leading her through the maze of streets; he'd also provided the money that opened doors and loosened tongues. It was thanks to him that they were currently riding across town in a taxi rather than making the weary trek on foot. 

"It's very good of you to go to all this trouble," she murmured. She realised she was resting her head on his shoulder, but couldn't summon the energy to pull away. Besides, it felt so comfortable there. 

"Help a young woman in trouble? That's what any public-spirited citizen would—" He broke off, as the communications device — he'd called it a 'pager' — in his pocket beeped. He gave it a brief glance. 

"Just Rose again," he said. "She'll be fine." 

"Where are we going now?" Nyssa asked. 

"The Den Of Iniquity. Pretty much what it says on the label." 

"It doesn't sound very nice. I hope Tegan isn't there." 

"You should hope she is, 'cos we've looked everywhere else." 

"I suppose so." Nyssa found her left hand was itching. She made to scratch it, but found her right hand held gently in Mr Crouch's. The sensation was pleasant enough that she was in no hurry for him to let her go. 

"So what's it like, running a bar?" she asked, smiling up at him. 

"Oh, never a dull moment, really," he said. "I remember, the other day, when we nearly ran out of waffles..." 

That was another nice thing about him, Nyssa decided. He was willing to talk and not press her with questions she'd find it awkward to answer. That sort of trusting nature was rare on worlds so unfortunate as not to have a Keeper, and Nyssa cherished it where she found it. Of course, that didn't mean she could return that easy trust. She'd learned the hard way that a smiling, friendly face might conceal all manner of villainy. 

She was more concerned about another nagging matter, though: her own growing symptoms. At first, she'd managed to dismiss the thirstiness and the itching as no more than a coincidence. But as the hours had crept by, and indication after indication had been added to the initial warning signs, the true explanation was proving harder and harder to deny. At their last stop, which rejoiced in the name of the Topless Lounge, she'd taken the opportunity to visit the cloakroom and check her appearance in the mirror. Not only had her teeth looked unnaturally sharp and pointed, there had been a definite hint of translucency about the entire image. The facts were inescapable: somehow she was once again succumbing to vampiric influence. Perhaps she hadn't been fully cured last time, and something in the environment of _Once Bitten_ had managed to reactivate the dormant infection. Or had there been actual vampires among its clientele? 

Anyway, that certainly wasn't something she could discuss with Mr Crouch. For all she knew, he was in league with the vampires himself. She leaned against his shoulder, and tried to relax. 

After a while, she had to close her eyes; the arteries in his neck were looking worryingly attractive. 

⁂

Nyssa found herself gently woken from her doze as the taxi drew up outside a tall, squalid building bearing the sign DEN OF INIQUITY. Still feeling half-asleep, she followed Mr Crouch to a doorway illuminated by harsh pink light, and surrounded with crude female caricatures. A skinny, miserable-looking man with a mop was smearing dirty water over the threshold. 

Yawning, she listened to the proceedings as Mr Crouch asked the janitor if he had any news of Tegan, sweetening the question with the usual tip. As the man nodded and disappeared into the depths of the building, Mr Crouch turned to Nyssa. 

"He thinks he's seen her," he said. "At least, someone matching the description. He called her 'an Aussie with a voice like a bandsaw.'" 

Nyssa was suddenly wide awake. "Then she was here!" 

"Most likely, yes. And probably still is here. I hope we're in time." 

"Time for what?" 

He gave her a dark look. "Bad things happen to good people in places like this." 

Nyssa didn't feel inclined to ask what. But even if she had, she didn't get the opportunity. An oily-looking man in a dinner jacket that didn't fit particularly well had appeared in the doorway. 

"Beat it," he said, without preliminary. "Both of youse." 

"Now, just a minute..." Mr Crouch began. 

The man gestured with what looked like a stubby black truncheon. "Whoever you want — not here." 

The next moment he was back against the wall, with Mr Crouch's hand round his throat. He raised his weapon, but Nyssa, feeling a sudden surge of blood and heat within her, tore it from his hand. 

"One chance," Mr Crouch said, in cold, level tones. "You get one chance. Where is Tegan Jovanka?" 

"Third floor," the man managed to reply. "Turn right. Third door on the left." 

"Thank you." Mr Crouch let the man drop, and caught Nyssa by the hand. "Come on." 

They raced up the stairs, arriving in a dusty corridor that looked as if it hadn't been painted in decades. Still hand in hand, they hurried to the third door, and pushed it open. The room inside was dark; Mr Crouch fumbled beside the door until he found a light switch, and pressed it. A dim, bare bulb glowed into reluctant life. 

The room was similar to many that Nyssa had seen that day: bare, tiny and insalubrious. Its only furniture was a worn, narrow bed with tattered sheets, and beside that, an area of floor just sufficient to accommodate the two visitors. The walls were bare plaster, chipped and stained. 

Tousled and sleepy, the bed's occupant sat up, clutching the threadbare sheet protectively around her naked body. 

"Tegan!" Nyssa exclaimed. "Tegan, wherever have you been?" 

"Right here." Tegan yawned. "Nyss? How did you get here?" 

"I came looking for you, of course. The question is how you ended up here." 

"It was a bet," Tegan said. She blushed, looking almost luminous in Nyssa's increasingly vampiric vision. "I had a go on the roulette wheel downstairs, and I was doing really well, so I thought I'd go for broke." 

"And?" 

"I lost, of course. All the money I had, and a lot I didn't have. And..." she blushed again. "Never mind." 

"You bet money you didn't have?" 

"I was bombed out." 

"I don't follow you." 

Tegan sighed. "Had too much to drink." 

Nyssa shook her head, and tried to ignore the fact that she could feel her fingernails growing into talons. "But surely you could have got a message to me, or the Doctor? We'd have come and sorted everything out." 

"What, tell you two the stupid Earth girl had made a mess of everything for the hundredth time? I couldn't face owning up to you. I wanted to set this right on my own. They said I could work here to pay the debt off, so I said that's what I'd do." 

"What sort of work?" Mr Crouch asked, a dangerous edge to his voice. He had taken off his coat but, finding nowhere to hang it, had set it down carefully on the floor. 

"Washing dishes. Cleaning floors." She looked at their faces. "What, you thought they'd make me sell my body or do exotic dancing or something? Chance'd be a fine thing." 

Mr Crouch looked as if he was passing from mere anger to coldly burning fury. "Oh, they'd have had you there in the end. The roulette wheel was fixed, of course. They run this kind of trick all the time. Tegan, if I meet any of the people who did this to you, I swear they'll spend the next thousand years looking out of the corners of mirrors." 

Tegan looked at Nyssa in bewilderment. "Who is this drongo and..." She broke off, as Nyssa opened her mouth to answer. "And what's he done to _you?_ " 

It was too late. The sight of Tegan's exposed neck and shoulders had been wearing away at Nyssa's fragile self-possession, and she could no longer resist. She launched herself at her friend, and if Tegan hadn't been as quick to jump out of the bed, Nyssa's fangs would have met in her throat. 

"Tegan!" It was Mr Crouch's voice, sounding distant. "Grab her! Quickly!" 

"Why should I—" Tegan broke off. "Oh, what the hell, why not?" 

Nyssa felt herself caught and held, as Mr Crouch and Tegan wrestled her down onto the bed. She snarled at them, trying to throw them off, but even her steadily growing vampiric strength was no match for them. She snapped at his sleeve, but bit only onto cloth. For a moment, she concentrated, willing her body to transform into mist, to no avail. There was nothing she could do, except struggle helplessly and listen to the other two bickering. She already know this was an area Tegan excelled in, and it quickly became apparent that Mr Crouch was hardly a novice either. 

"What've you done to her?" Tegan demanded. 

"I didn't do anything!" Mr Crouch said, his tone defensive. "Do I look like a vampire?" 

There was suspicion in Tegan's voice. "Let's have a look at your teeth." A pause. "OK, maybe it wasn't you. So what are you going round with her for?" 

"To keep her out of trouble, of course." 

Tegan tightened her grip on Nyssa's left arm. "I can see you did a really good job there. Don't tell me, the last person you tried to keep out of trouble was President Kennedy." 

"Funny you should say that." 

"No, it isn't. Nothing about this is funny. You're mixed up in all this, somehow. How?" 

Mr Crouch cleared his throat slightly. "I'm a vampire hunter." 

"That's pathetic. You expect me to believe that?" 

"It's the truth!" 

"You couldn't even look me in the eye when you said it." 

"That's because you're not wearing anything!" Mr Crouch protested. 

"I haven't got anything _to_ wear. I didn't come here with pyjamas and an overnight bag, did I? And you can shut up as well." Tegan's last remark was addressed to Nyssa, who, with the accompaniment of infuriated snarling, had been trying to wriggle out of her grip. "Look, how am I supposed to believe you without any sort of proof?" 

"I've got proof. In my coat pocket." 

"Fine. Show me." 

Mr Crouch's reply came through gritted teeth. "I'm using both my hands right now, aren't I?" 

"So am I." 

"Can't you move over a bit?" 

"Suppose I could," Tegan's voice admitted grudgingly. Her grip on Nyssa's arm loosened, only to be replaced by the weight of a leg. "Uhh... Got it. Now where's this proof?" 

"In the inside pocket." 

There was a pause. "'Bartemius Crouch Junior, Accredited Vampire Hunter,'" Tegan's voice read. "And what's this syringe for?" 

"Anti-vampire serum. Turns a vampire back into a normal person." 

"Hang on." Tegan's voice was low and menacing. "You mean you had this stuff all along and you never told me?" 

"You didn't give me the chance!" 

"I'm giving it you now. Use it on Nyssa." 

"It's experimental and she isn't human. I don't know what it'll do to her—" 

"Whatever it is, it's got to be better than being a vampire, hasn't it?" Tegan countered. 

"OK. I'll hang onto her, you inject her." 

"No!" Nyssa screamed, putting renewed effort into her struggles. Her strength was increasing all the time — if she could just keep the other two bickering for long enough... 

But she couldn't. She felt Tegan grab her trousers and pull them down, followed by her knickers. A moment later, the needle was plunged into her exposed backside. Convulsing uncontrollably, she howled in pain as the serum burned through her body. The strain must have been too much for the rickety bed; with a final splintering crash, it collapsed. 

It was at this moment that the door flew open. There was a shocked pause, a deep indrawing of breath, and Rose's horrified voice proclaimed "I bloody **knew** it!" 

"Rose," Mr Crouch protested. "This isn't a good time..." 

"Yeah, I can see that. What the hell do you think you're doing?" 

"I told you, I was helping Nyssa find her friend." 

"And then you decided you'd all have a bit of fun together?" With a swift, angry step, Rose closed the distance between herself and Mr Crouch, and took him by the ear. "I knew my Mum was right. Ooh, you're gonna regret this so much." 

"Rose, this isn't what it looks like! Rose, please you've got to trust me!" 

Rose, now at the door, thrust Mr Crouch outside, then turned and directed a baleful look at Tegan and Nyssa as they lay tangled in the shattered remains of the bed — one entirely naked, the other with her trousers round her ankles. 

"Perverts," she spat, and slammed the door behind her. 

"Are you OK?" Tegan asked. Nyssa's convulsions had subsided, leaving her shivering and soaked with sweat, but apparently in her right mind once more. 

"I think so." Cautiously, Nyssa felt her teeth, reassured to find that they were no longer needle-sharp fangs. She pulled up her trousers, wincing slightly. "It still hurts a bit where you injected me." 

Tegan blushed again. "Sorry about that. I suppose I should've gone for your arm or something." 

"You were in a hurry, not to mention unfamiliar with Trakenite physiology." Nyssa patted her shoulder in what she hoped was a reassuring manner. "Come on, get your clothes on and let's get out of here." 

Tegan blushed again. "I haven't got them." 

"How...?" 

"When I lost all that money... I bet my clothes, too." She bit her lip. "I was full as a goog that night." 

"I take it that means you'd had far too much to drink." Nyssa looked around. "Mr Crouch left his coat. You'd better have that. I don't expect he'll mind." 

"I think he's got a lot of other things to mind about at the moment," Tegan said, with a reluctant chuckle. "That girl of his sounds like a handful and no mistake." 

She picked up the discarded coat and wriggled into it. The result was hardly a trailblazer of fashion; her hands were lost in the depths of the sleeves, and the hem trailed on the ground around her feet. 

"I suppose it's better then nothing," she said. "Let's go." 

Hastily, they crept down the staircase, fearing at any moment that Tegan's captors would leap out and secure her once more. But whether Mr Crouch had made good on his threat to imprison them in mirrors, or whether it was just a fortunate coincidence, nobody seemed to be around. Within minutes, they had departed the Den of Iniquity and were hurrying through the streets of New Orleans, making for the TARDIS at the best speed Tegan could manage barefoot. 

"Hang on a minute," Tegan said suddenly, after they'd gone several blocks. She came to an abrupt halt. 

"Have you hurt your foot?" Nyssa asked. The thought of Tegan cutting her feet on broken glass or worse had been nagging at her since they set out. 

"No, nothing like that." She gestured at the coat she was wearing. "I'm sure there's something in this pocket." 

She rolled up one of the oversized sleeves, delved in the side pocket of the coat, and extracted a slim silver rod. 

"Wonder what it is?" she said. 

Her hand must have slipped, or been resting on one of the controls; the rod whirred, and a blue light at its tip illuminated. The illuminated globe at the top of a nearby streetlamp rotated slowly, then fell to the ground at their feet. 

"You don't think...?" Tegan said. 

Nyssa nodded. "That sounded like the sonic screwdriver." 

"Do you think your Mr Crouch was a Time Lord?" 

"I suppose he could have been. I'm sure Crouch wasn't his real name. For all we know he might even have been the Doctor." 

"You mean if he regenerated again?" 

"That's right. He knew your surname and he knew I'm not human and I can't remember telling him either of those things... no, it doesn't add up." Nyssa shook her head emphatically. "He can't be the Doctor, because the Doctor hasn't got a sonic screwdriver any more. His got broken. And it's not as if he could just make another one, or he'd have made one by now." 

"We can give him this one, then. Be a nice surprise." Tegan dropped the screwdriver back into her pocket. "And you're right, Crouch can't be the Doctor. You remember what he — Crouch, I mean — was like with that Rose. He must've worshipped the ground she trod on, or he wouldn't have let her treat him like that. The Doctor's never like that with anyone." 

"You could always try standing in front of him dressed like that and opening your coat," Nyssa suggested. "That'd get a reaction." 

Tegan giggled at the mental image. "You wicked girl, Nyss. I never knew you had it in you." 

"I didn't until you corrupted me so thoroughly," Nyssa replied, slipping her arm through Tegan's. 

Arm in arm, the two resumed their walk to the TARDIS.


End file.
